


Their End

by pinesbrosfalls (fangirl0430)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, AU: whatwouldteslado, Angst, Bad Ending, Gen, Not Happy, Panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 08:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl0430/pseuds/pinesbrosfalls
Summary: An alternate ending for the RP blog @whatwouldteslado in which Ford still goes into the portal, Stan takes on much more than he can handle, and the people sending asks maybe don’t realize one very important fact until it’s too late.





	Their End

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Paranoid Ford Ask Blog](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/419468) by Fordanoia. 



**_“im done arguing”_ **

**_“im getitng my brother back”_ **

* * *

Stan slams the device down on the desk, ignoring the couple of papers that slip off the edge of the table with the impact and land on the dirt floor underfoot. The portal, already apparently in the later stages of the charging process if the intensity of the rotating symbols is anything to go by, hums from the next room over, filling in the white noise between the beeps and clicks in the control room. The ground shudders underfoot almost imperceptibly, as if waiting to toss him back in the air again with another gravity any-who what’s-it-called (he can’t remember what they called it). But now he’s ready for it, a long rope securing him to the bolted desk.

Based on Ford’s notes, the portal should be ready any minute now.

_Ford…_

It’s hard to believe it’s been three whole weeks since he lost him, since he pushed him, since he…

Somehow, it simultaneously feels like it was just yesterday and over thirty years ago, lingering in his mind and burning in the same way that the cold concrete felt under his trembling hands ten years ago.

_No man should ever have to live through hearing his brother scream for help like that…_

He’d spent almost two weeks trying and failing to get the portal back up and running, feeling beyond out of his element when faced with the other-worldly triangular behemoth the next room other. He spent two weeks knowing that what he was doing was essentially hopeless, only having the benefit of the first of his brother’s journals, the one that he should’ve just taken and left with like Ford _wanted_.

It was beyond-a-doubt the worst two weeks of his life.

And that was saying something.

But then he’d found Ford’s weird little device, partially hidden under mounds of paper on the dining room table, probably from when Ford had been moving stuff around before showing him downstairs.

A little dot in the corner of the screen had been blinking.

He wasn’t sure what to think of the thing, but once he managed to turn it on, there was suddenly a barrage of messages. Questions and concerns and so many No-Names and so much fear and worry and so many people asking for _Ford._

He typed the first thing he could figure to say.

**“ _what the hell is this?_ ”**

They were much more supportive than he thought they would be, all things considered. They explained everything, in as much detail as they could, giving him answers to questions he never thought to ask, telling him almost exactly where to find the other two journals, that those barrels on the porch were the fuel he needed, what had happened to his brother.

The majority of them were an alright bunch, barring the fact that he knew for sure they all had some ulterior motive, some secrets they never really divulged.

_~~How did they know so much?~~ _

But he’d take any help he can get.

He spent that night reading, pouring over all of Ford’s entries and answers and questions and…

Some of it… Some of it was a little hard to stomach.

He tries not to think about it.

He doesn’t _want_ to think about it.

But he was able to piece together some semblance of a story, even if it reeked of insanity on Ford’s part.

~~He’s not sure what would be worse to believe: Ford losing his mind, or demons really existing.~~

The people (No-Names, he began calling the users that hid behind anonymity) gave him the information he needed, and what should have taken him decades to complete only wound up taking him a week.

And now it’s ready.

He’s finally ready to open it, to fix his mistake (finally… _finally_ he fixes something for once).

And then they… they tried to tell him not to?

It doesn’t make any sense to him, why half of them all of a sudden decided to jump ship and begged him to stop.

It doesn’t make any _sense_.

Why would they tell him where the Journals are? What the passwords should be? What to use the chained barrels on the front porch for? What Sixer’s ridiculous codes said?

_Why would they help him and then turn on him out of the blue?_

He doesn’t see the end game, doesn’t see the over-arching idea. Sure, not everyone flipped on him, a few of the No-Names still sending him help and codes and locations and information. But the device’s mailbox slowly filled with more and more warnings, cryptic messages, outlandish stories, guesses, and nonsense. He knows there’s a group of them working together somehow. He knows it’s the ones trying to ask him to stop because they sometimes turn off the mask, as if he’ll trust a fake name over a lack of one. As if “aniXXXXrose” or “XXXXtato” or any of them actually _mean_ something.

_He’s so close._

The light on the phone screen blinks, letting him know that there are new messages to ignore.

He finds he’s a million times more interested in the light coming from the other room.

_Just a little—_

There’s a flash, a blinding white light, every hair on his body standing on end as the portal shrieks awake, like a beast brought back to life, his whole body going completely weightless for a fraction of a second.

When the spots clear from his eyes, the first thing he realizes is that what used to be bluish light shining from the hole in the triangular structure is now an inky blackness that seems to reach for miles through the ten-foot-tall hole, the darkness itself shifting and unstable deep within.

He rushes into the other room, practically tripping over his own feet to get there faster, stretching as far as the rope will allow him to go through the doorway.

For some reason, he grabs the device as he goes.

The portal is still humming, low and constant, the twin beams of light on either side pulsing and radiating enough heat to make him immediately break out into a sweat. But his attention is completely on the darkness, searching it for a sign, anything, any shred of Ford’s existence in the turmoil.

“The Nightmare Realm” they had called it.

He doesn’t see what all the fuss is abou—

There’s a sound.

He… he can’t immediately place it, not from underneath the thrum of the portal.

But there’s _something_.

“Ford!” he screams. “Ford! Can you hear me? Sixer!”

He waits a moment, but he doesn’t get an answer.

The sound gets a little louder.

Almost subconsciously, he pulls out the device and types.

**“ _portals open. so much for the “end of the world” yall were worried about_ ”**

He doesn’t know why he types it out. Maybe to rub it in their faces.

“Ford! You there, buddy?”

Still nothing.

The black space inside the portal ripples and folds in waves.

He quickly unknots the rope, stepping closer to the portal.

“Ford! Can you hear me?”

They had promised he wasn’t dead, that they weren’t just guessing, but that they _knew_. It was the hardest and easiest part to believe, that he hadn’t accidentally killed his own brother.

They _swore_ to him that Ford wasn’t dead. ~~Does it even mean anything coming from complete strangers?~~

But that was also around the time when they all started to turn on him too.

That sound…

It almost sounds like…

_Laughter?_

“Ford?”

No, not Ford. Much too high-pitched, too nasally. This is someone else. Some _thing_ else.

They had warned him of something else being over there. Something dangerous.

_Maybe this was a bad id—_

He shakes the thought, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling as loud as his voice can manage.

“Ford! It’s open! Come on!”

Still nothing.

Just that same, unnerving laugh, slowly getting louder, as if moving towards him from some far away distance, the black bending and folding and flowing around itself inside the triangle’s eye.

It makes something cold run down his spine.

He glances down at the device screen and pulls up the most recent message.

“ _ZKHQ JUDYLWB IDOOV DQG HDUWK EHFRPHV VNB_ ”

~~Did the screen just flicker yellow or was that a reflection?~~

He ignores it and turns back to the portal, the eerie laughter plainly audible now, filling the room as it continues its crescendo. He calls for Ford again, his words getting caught up and lost in the whirlwind of noise around him, the dark abyss inside the portal’s door roiling, frothing, like a pot of boiling water seconds from overflowing.

He… he doesn’t get it.

He was supposed to be here.

This was supposed to _work_.

He was supposed to get him back.

_Where’s Ford?_

They said he already left weeks ago—

_No! He didn’t do all this for nothing!_

He turns back to the device.

**“ _any idea why this thing is laughing at me?_ ”**

He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, trying to make it all seem less unnerving that it actually is.

Trying to make it seem like he’s not panicking more and more with each passing second.

It’s still getting louder…

Getting closer…

The darkness overflows, drips down the side of the portal…

The response is almost instant, the device flashing a million messages per second.

“ _SHUT IT DOWN NOW!_ ”

“ _—before it’s too late!_ ”

“ _He_ ’ _s coming you need to kill the power—_ ”

“ _Why didn’t you listen to us Ford’s already—_ ”

“ _—he’s long gone Stan you need to close it before—_ "

“ _…you just caused the apocalypse_ ”

“ _We’ll meet again. Don’t know where—_ ”

“ _Stan he’s GONE you need to shut it—_ "

“ _If Bill makes it through that’s it—_ ”

“ _Please for the love of god SHUT IT DOWN._ ”

“— _a completely different DIMENSION by now—"_

“ _—find another way this is just going to get you and the whole town killed._ ”

“ _Please Stan._ ”

“ _Please—_ ”

_“FORD’S NOT THERE WE TRIED TO TELL YOU—_ ”

“ _—will destroy everything and everyone—_ ”

“ _CLOSE IT!_ ”

The laughter is louder, echoing around the room from the circle of oozing and bubbling tar inside the portal.

_Ford’s not there._

There’s _nothing_ there.

There’s just…

_Nothing_.

They’re right, and suddenly he knows it with startling clarity.

_They warned me and I ignored them._

He hates that he let himself get carried away in this fantasy for so long.

He hates that he believed there was actually a chance that he could fix—

He hates what he has to do.

Hates it.

**“ _how do i shut it down_ ”**

The answer takes less than a second, and he’s dashing over to the opposite side of the room.

Three keys, of _course_.

He, by some miracle, manages to turn them all, using his teeth on the middle one even though it hurts his jaw.

The top of the lever in front of the portal pops open, the red button inside blinking harshly at him. He’s there in a moment, but something in him keeps his hands weighted to his sides, like someone tied lead around them. Something heavy and painful coils inside his stomach at the sight of that button, at the notion that he’s about to ruin Ford’s only chance of coming back home.

That Ford will be _gone_ and it’ll be _all his fault_.

_He’s long gone, Stan. They said so. He’s not there—_

_But why do you believe them?_

The laughter fills the room now, bouncing around the walls in a dreadful cacophony of sound that assaults his ears and drowns out everything else. It’s everywhere, seeming too impossibly loud, the noise pressing inside his head and threatening to tear apart his skull.

It doesn’t take a genius to know that anything that sounds like that can’t be good news.

He hates himself for what he has to do.

He glances back at the portal one last time in vain, putting his back to it once the last drop of hope drains away, the black seeming to take some kind of shape, reaching out towards him—

“I’m sorry Sixer,” he says to the shutdown button, to himself. He closes his eyes. _Never could keep you eyes open when you pulled the trigger, huh Pines?_ “I’ll find another way.”

And he raises his hand over his head and brings it down hard—

But then the laughter stops, the room going deathly silent.

His hand freezes a hair’s width above the button, the red flashing against his skin.

He pauses, listening.

All he hears is the whirring of the portal and his own panicked breathing, his head buzzing from the sudden relative silence.

~~When did his heart start pounding so fast?~~

He turns back to the portal.

It’s perfectly normal.

Well, normal in the relative sense.

Whatever he had been seeing, the blackness dripping down the sides, whatever that had been, it’s gone now, no trace of it even existing in the first place on the pristine metal surface. The inside of the portal is still dark, but now it’s… _still_. Blacker than the darkest night, yes, but there’s no movement, no roiling deep within like he swears he saw moments ago.

He breathes, taking a step back away from the shutdown button, facing the portal full on again.

_Whatever it was, it’s gone._

_~~Was there even something there in the first place?~~ _

He breathes, trying to bring his pounding heart back to a normal rhythm.

“Got yourself a little worked up there, huh?” he says to himself, snorting. His heart is still thrumming too fast. “Must be something in the water. Makes your head a little crazy. That’s it. Let’s give Ford another minute.”

He knows he sounds crazy, talking to himself. But there’s something about actually saying it out-loud, something more convincing and substantial to it. Maybe whatever made Ford so skittish is starting to get to him too. Maybe it’s something simple like something in the water.

Maybe the laughing and the tar-like boiling inside the portal and the fear were all just in his head.

His sleep-deprived head that’s been filled to the brim with the No-Faces’ crazy stories and ideas.

He takes another step back from the caution line, looking deep into the dark circle, alert but still searching, still hoping.

_Give Ford another minute._

He pulls the device out again, fingers faintly shaking as he types.

**_“false alarm. notihng there. think it’ll be alrihgt if i give it another mi”_ **

_BANG!_

He jumps, the device falling from his hands as his feet stumble backwards over uneven ground and he loses his footing completely, falling backwards.

He looks up at the portal.

There’s…

There’s _a hand._

Huge, almost half the size of the hole itself, materializing out of the black and grabbing onto the edge of the circle, darkness dripping off it like hot tar, hitting the ground and _smoking_. The metal structure of the portal bends and groans under its fingers, the darkness burning into the metal structure. Another hand stretches out, long tendrils of black clinging to it as it reaches out and takes shape, crashing its grip onto the other side of the circle, black pooling around its fingers and dripping down the gleaming metal structure.

Stan scrambles backwards, his feet not cooperating as he drags himself back away from that _thing_ , unable to look away out of some fascinating sense of dawning horror as it pulls itself through, the ink oozing off in thick globs of pitch and splashing puddles the size of his entire body onto the floor, the thing (triangular in shape, somehow impossibly bigger than the portal itself, getting _bigger_ ) finally pulling itself free.

_What did I do? What did I do? What did I **do**?_

He watches, frozen with his back pressed flat against the back wall, his chest heaving in and out breaths that he tries to silence but _that thing is just floating there and it’s huge and I should have listened to them all when I had the chance I should have hit the button I should have I should have and **what did I do—**_

A bright white eye opens in the middle of the thing’s body, and Stan swears his breathing stops altogether when it instantly fixes its gaze on him, the black covering it bleeding away and revealing sickly yellow underneath—

“WHY IF IT ISN’T GOOD OLE RELIABLE STANLEY PINES!”

The voice, high-pitched and nasally and _loud_ rings through the air, through his head, somehow louder than anything he’s ever heard even though the sound came from _nowhere_.

They warned him.

The No-Faces _warned_ him, but he didn’t believe them.

A dream demon from another world that has one eye and a triangular body and a top hat and bow tie.

As ridiculous as it sounds, it’s _right here_.

The thing that’s responsible for this machine.

The thing that’s been terrorizing his brother.

“You’re Bill?” he manages to say, mustering whatever ounce of bravado he has left and pressing his hands flat to the ground to stop them from trembling. The puddle beneath the demon grows, the black seeming to writhe and contort within itself.

“THE ONE AND ONLY!”

The smoke smells like burning flesh, rot and death slowly filling the air and making him feel sick to his stomach.

The demon tips his hat. _A goddamn top hat of all things._

“Thought you’d be a lot bigger.”

He braces himself against the wall, pushes himself to his feet, his eyes never once leaving the gigantic being just a few yards in front of him. As he stands, he vaguely realizes he feels lighter somehow, like gravity isn’t entirely working.

_Might even be able to jump and get enough height to knock this bastard right in the eye, knock him back into the—_

“AND HERE I WAS HOPING YOU’D BE THE ONE STAN PINES OUT THERE WITH SOME SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION. YET HERE YOU ARE! STILL FIGHTING YOUR BROTHER’S LOSING BATTLES FOR HIM.” Something appears out of thin air next to Bill. A giant cane, one that he twirls around in his hand, the action generating enough wind to blow at Stan’s hair, before he dramatically plants the end of it into the ground with a loud _thunk_ and casually leans against it. Stan almost thinks he must have stumbled into the Twilight Zone or something, the fear just barely out-weighing the confusion. “THOUGH I MUST SAY, I GUESS I OWE YOU ONE, PINES. OPENING THE DOOR FOR ME. ENDING YOUR OWN WORLD. I COULDN’T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU! I’M FEELING GENEROUS. HOW ABOUT I DO YOU A FAVOR IN RETURN? WHAT’LL IT BE? MONEY, POWER, YOUR OWN GALAXY? YOU NAME IT.”

“I don’t want your favors. I just want my brother back,” Stan says, digging for any bit of confidence he can get his hands on, not wanting this bastard to see how shaken his is. “So why don’t you take your little favor, shove it where the sun don’t shine, and just go back to whatever Hell you came from.”

“OUCH,” Bill deadpans, rolling his lone eye. “YOU KNOW, FOR A LOSER LIVING ON THE STREETS, YOU’RE QUICK TO DISMISS A POSSIBLE ALLY, STANLEY PINES. YOU WANT FORDSY BACK? WELL, HE HOPPED DIMENSIONS WEEKS AGO. HE’S LONG GONE BY NOW. YOU’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO FIND HIM. NOT ON YOUR OWN.”

“And what? _You_ wanna help me?”

“SURE! I WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN JUST AS MUCH AS YOU DO, TOUGH GUY. GOT SOME UNFINISHED BUSINESS, STUFF BETWEEN OLD PALS, YOU KNOW HOW IT GOES. I COULD HELP YOU FIND HIM. I’VE GOT GUYS IN EVERY CORNER OF THE MULTIVERSE. YOU JUST POP THROUGH THE PORTAL, I’LL HAVE SOME OF MY GUYS HELP YOU OUT—"

“I’ll stop you right there,” Stan says, and he’s surprised when Bill actually stops talking, the eye squinting in annoyance at having been cut off. Stan takes it as a challenge, plants himself wide, trying to make himself as imposing as he can in front of a literal demon that’s at least 10 times his size. “I can smell a scam from a mile off, and you _reek_ pal.”

His hands are still shaking.

“I don’t want your deals or your favors. I just want you gone. So, you’re gonna get the fuck off my planet and never come back. That’s _my_ deal. And you can either leave the easy way,” Stan reaches into his pocket, fingers sliding comfortably into cool brass, “or my way. Take your pick.”

There’s a pregnant pause, Stan poised and ready for the retaliation, for the anger, for a fight.

But Bill just… _laughs._

It’s not even the same as before; no sinister undertones, nothing like before when he could have been playing the maniacal villain in a superhero comic. The demon is just… laughing, the sound jammed into Stan’s head, the triangle wheeling backwards, the cane still stuck standing in the ground as Bill kicks his feet like a little child as he floats and rotates back, the last bits of dark sludge finally dripping off.

“OH NO I’M PRACTICALLY _SHAKING_ IN MY NON-EXISTENT BOOTS!” Bill snorts, and Stan finds himself clenching his fists at that, his teeth grinding together hard. Bill finally rights himself, wiping what looks like a tear from his eye. “WHAT’RE YA GONNA DO, TOUGH GUY? PUNCH ME? BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING. ONE OF YOU STANS TRIED IT ONCE.” Bill flashes forward, in his face for a split second, burning red and something angry. “DIDN’T T̶̢̤̯̳͚̲̞́͆͊͂̍͜͝A̶̧̛̯͇̗̠̘͖̝͈͆̐̇̕͠͝K̴̢̲̙͙̈̌̂̚͘͢͜ͅE̵̢̮͙̭̮͕̺͈̿̈̐͌͑͂.”

But then the vision is gone, Bill once again just leaning back on his cane, still snorting out the last of his hysterics as if nothing even happened even though Stan knows it happened because now he’s stumbled backwards, his back almost against the wall.

_The bastard’s toying with him._

Stan wills himself to stand his ground, lock his knees so they don’t wobble and look Bill in the eye and tell himself he stands a chance.

_He thinks he’s already won. He’s cocky, and he thinks he’s already won. That’s what I have to take advantage of. That’s my shot._

All the words of the No-Faces rise to his mind unbidden, claiming unlimited power and no chance of survival or winning should Bill get through.

Stan knows something about long odds.

They’re the only reason he’s alive at this rate.

A knife just missing any vital organs.

A prison break right before Rico’s gang planned to off him.

A throw-away bet that cashes in big and lets him eat something _not_ out of a dumpster for the first time in weeks.

Call it fate, luck, skill, personality, whatever it is; it’s saved his ass more than once.

He prays to whatever god is out there that it’ll save him this time too.

_~~This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.~~ _

“Well maybe I’m not the first to try it,” he says, his voice steadier than it has any right to be. “But I bet none of them were as good of a shot as me!” He jumps, throwing himself upwards with every ounce of strength he has and letting the lack of gravity carry him to eye-level with the triangle, his momentum carrying him forward as he whips the knuckledusters out, brass gleaming under the fluorescent lights overhead.

It’s all a split-second, really.

A split-second during which he thinks maybe he got the drop on him, maybe he stands a—

It’s like he hits a wall, the way his entire body jolts to a hard stop mid-air with his fist just inches away from Bill’s eye, hovering frozen as if something reached up and grabbed him even though he knows nothing did.

The eye squints in amusement, something akin to a _tsk tsk_ filling his ears, his head.

He… he can’t move.

Bill looks about as amused as a triangle with one eye possibly could, and Stan _can’t move_. The only plan he had, his only way out, it didn’t work.

He’s… stuck.

_Stall for time. Figure out another plan. You’ve gotten out of worse. ~~Haven’t you?~~_

He realizes the full extent of how vulnerable he is right now. How there’s nothing he can do, no matter how hard he strains, no matter how he tries.

He’s completely at Bill’s mercy.

Everyone is.

_Think think think._

_I didn’t mean for this to happen._

_There has to be another way out._

_I screwed everything up again._

**_Ford, I’m sorry._ **

“YOU STANS, ALL THE SAME. ALWAYS PUNCHING. NEVER TRYING ANYTHING ORIGINAL FOR ONCE IN YOUR STUPID LITTLE LIVES.”

_Keep him talking. Stall for… something. Anything._

“Well why don’t you square up then? Even the odds a little.” Bill’s right in his face, his eye squinting slightly.

“OR I COULD JUST END YOUR INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE LIFE NICE AND QUICKLY AND PAINFULLY, JUST FOR GOOD MEASURE SINCE SIXER DECIDED TO SKIP TOWN, AND THEN GO DO WHAT I _ACTUALLY_ CAME HERE FOR.”

“And what’s that? What do you even _want_?”

“THEY DIDN’T TELL YOU?” he raises his hand, something rising from the dirt off behind him and floating towards them, gleaming in the light of the portal.

_The device._

Under the glare of the light, Stan realizes its screen is cracked.

Two lone cracks that begin joined at the middle of the top of the screen and then split as they make their way down, each ending in a bottom corner.

“ACTUALLY, I BET THEY TOLD YOU. YOU JUST DIDN’T LISTEN TO THEM, DID YOU SMART GUY? WELL, TOO LATE NOW.” His fist closes fast and hard, something inside Stan twisting painfully as the device crumbles simultaneously with it, a loud _crack_ followed by the crunch of grinding metal as the entire thing smashes into itself with one last dying spark of electricity. “YOU SHOULD’VE TAKE MY OFFER WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE. BUT, EH, NO SKIN OFF MY BONES. _HA!_ BONES! I’VE GOT SOME OF THOSE NOW, I THINK.”

Gravity suddenly grabs him again, Stan plummeting back down to the ground, the hit knocking the wind out of him, his arm landing in a puddle of the thick black tar. It immediately burns through his jacket and scorches his skin like a hot iron, ripping a scream out of him as he scrambles to swat it off, the stuff sticking to his arm and burning and _he can’t get it off why won’t it come o—_

“YOU SEE, LITTLE FISH, HERE’S WHERE YOU’RE WRONG. I DON’T WANT _SOMETHING_.”

“I WANT Ẽ̴͇͖̹̞̔͋̈́͜͡V̧̰̪͙̬̭̈̉͌̅̽͡E̢̨̞̟̺͗̆͂̍͆̕͟͠R̸̨͈̱̬̫̼͌͆̈́̍̏̚͡Y̟̤̪̣̺͗̒͌̓͞͠Ţ̬̙͚̥̣̘͍͗̐̍̓̓̅͜H̘̞̞͔̯̲͊̃̇̏̾̚ͅͅI̶͙̱͈͍̺̔̉͋́͆̚Ṇ͈̱͔̰̥̼̄̓̌̊̈̇̏̚̚G̞̳͖̙̥̹̖͂̂͗̊͂̍͞.”

He’s still trying to tear the stuff off his arm, clawing at it, tears burning rivulets of pain down his cheeks. A shadow slowly looms over top of him, blocking out the last of the light emanating from the portal, but he’s too consumed by the excruciating pain to notice, the black substance clinging to his arm, now almost starting to spread outwards, reaching down to his wrist and up to his elbow, the mass growing and shifting and _burning_ no matter how he screams.

_I can’t—_

“WELCOME TO WEIRDMAGEDDON, STANLEY PINES.”

He looks up just to meet the demon’s eye, everything blurry and unfocussed and _dark_ but he can see the eye, bright white and slitted and _piercing right into his skull_ —

Ǐ̛̝̰͍̹̣̼̦͍̊̉͒̇̃̇͟ͅT̹̪̻͍͙͖͖̻̓̑̏̐̎̆͛̓͜’̷̢̰͈̗͍̥̩́̆͐̐͛͟͝͡S̩̘͕̯̻͇͓̙̮̈̐̄͋ T̴̘̝̹̪͖̟͈̽̄͑̓̐̾͘͝O̳̼̼̘̳̹̎̍̀̑͋O̷̞̗̘̙͔̖͊̄͗̒̋̆͜͢ B̗̖̟͔̤̻̭̓̐̀̉͆̏͢͠A̙͚̯̱̩̓͋̽̍͌͡ͅḌ̸͎̮̤̺̙̬͋̌̀̌̊͗͋̀̕ Y̸̛̺̫͓̗̳̐̔͋̔͟ͅȮ̷̧̯̬̖̮̇̅͡͠͡Ŭ̧̘̞̲͊̌̍͑̾̚͠͠ͅ W̸͓̹̳͔̗̭͙̐͆̊̎͘Ơ̤̼̳͕̫̈́̍̀̓̚͘͝͠Ņ̶͕̣̣̦̱̌͗͐̑̒’̶̧̨̯̪̪͙̦̙̿̓̈͆̂͆̕Ṫ̴͍̹͎̲͉̭̝͎͆̌̒͆͊̍̐͟͡ B̹̯̺̳̖̮̫̜̆̄̇̏̓̐͋Ë̞̤͙̬̬̽͗̆͂̒͝ A̶̼̫̭̘̞̠̯̖̖̺̓̃̌͆̎͋̑͡͡R̸̢̛͇̠͕̼͖͎͌̓͂͒̾͊̒̏͗͢͟O̸̡̬͙͕̯̹͉̮̓͊̈̓̕͟ͅǓ̴̯̟̰̪͛̅̇̏̓̈̿͗͆͟N̵̲̭̙̝͓̮̑̆̎̂͢͠D̡͔̘͚̣̼̮̤̼́͛͛̒̇̕͡͞ L̸̤̲͈̺̥̲̞͂̐͊̉̿́͘ͅƠ̸̜͓͉̙̖̞̪̂̑͋̏͠N̡̝̣͇̘̫͍̞̗̎̊̆̓͒̐̌̈̕͢͡G̮̠͎̲̣͊̑̃̏̑̉͢͞ Ę̰͕̰̞̍̾͋̂̾̐N̪͇͈͇͎̳̽̃̐̈̏͂͗̾Ŏ̵̧̮͖̥̲̊̓̆͛̌̾U̧͍̖͕̲̯͆͑̊̋͑͊͌̚͝͞G̨͕͖̤̼̥̙̔͋̃̐̉̐͢͡͠H̘̻̜̪͔͓̟͓̋̊̇̾̓̚͟͝͠ T̷͈͍̗̰̪̳̫̏́̂͆͆̕͞Ǫ̨̮̦̱̼̯͗͌̇͌̅͟ S̶̡̨̯͙̯̺̤̞̑̎̌̆͗̏E͓͙̣͇͕̗̻̎̍̀̈́̓͂̓̽͂̆͟͜E̷͎̝͍̦͔̻͎̫̿̇̏̽̄͜͝ͅ I̢̘͉̼̞͌̅͊̓̽̎̌̔͘Ț̶̡̨̧̠̣̻͚̆̂͊͞͡ͅ

* * *

 

**_“false alarm. notihng there. think it’ll be alrihgt if i give it another mi”_ **

And then a few minutes later.

**_“Ford, I’m sorry.”_ **

The chaos that ensues in the dimension where the Askers and Watchers reside is quick and confused, people rushing for answers, for solutions, for any piece of information they can get their hands on.

They were right, and they know it.

They hope not, but deep down, they know.

It’s a madhouse.

So lost are they in their scramble that no one is even watching the webpage.

Only a select few see the blog when it happens.

They each tell a different story.

One says the words “YOU LOSE” were posted before immediately being deleted.

Another says that all text on the screen flickered, going from Latin to code to some alien symbolic language and hundreds of others in a matter of seconds.

One or two claim that an imagine of Bill himself flashed on-screen, clear as day.

Whether they’re all telling the truth about it, no one really knows for sure. But they all share a common thread.

They all say that, for a moment, the blog flashed a too-bright yellow, a short burst of color that was almost blinding, much too bright for their screens to have produced.

And then the image cut to static, something loud and horrible blaring through their speakers for a long ~~too long~~ second—

Before the page went completely blank.

The page, the blog, the archive, whatever they each decided to call it.

It was gone.

Completely and utterly gone.

Leaving nothing but an error screen in its wake.

Every post and ask had disappeared.

Every screenshot somehow got corrupted.

All the fan art and pictures were erased or scribbled over.

Even the server archives and note documents were undecipherable or altogether deleted.

It was all _gone_.

In the end, one thing alone survived.

A constant reminder of the end that they created, that they couldn’t stop.

A lesson on why you should never play with fate and hope to win.

A requiem to the world that they ended.

A broken url.

All that was left was a broken url.

That and, for those that were unfortunate enough to hear it, a distant, echoing laugh that blared through their speakers before it all died.

That was all.

That was their end.

**Author's Note:**

> *runs away screaming into the night*


End file.
